


Once in an Orange Moon

by GreenasCole



Series: Mandarin [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott, Alpha Stiles, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Sheriff Stilinski, Blood and Gore, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Vampires, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 17:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenasCole/pseuds/GreenasCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night of the Red Moon, the last full moon before the new school year, and the pack is doing some training (i.e. Stiles is doing some showing off).  Afterwards, he enacts a plot to spend some alone time with Derek out of sight of the Sheriff's magically enhanced watchful eyes.</p><p>As usual Stiles has the WORST timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Testing 1-2-3

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last mini fic before the next main installment. NaNoWriMo is four days away and that will be taking up all of my writing time fore the next month, so it will be a while.
> 
> Didn't have much time to edit, sorry for the inconvenience.

Derek howled out the start of the hunt as the Full Red Moon crested over the horizon, bathing the woods of the preserve in a lambent glow that looked orange through the eyes of his beast form.  Scott’s answering howl echoed from the far side of the territory, signaling the rest of the pack who leapt into the game with a chorus of excited yips and snarls.  From the final point of the equilateral triangle of the Alphas’ starting positions came the rush of Stiles’s anticipation before all sense of him was abruptly obscured like a light being switched off.  It had only been two weeks since the novice enchanter had got his “Packnet” up and running and Derek had already gotten so used to having the constant reassurance of his boyfriend’s presence that it was hard for him to restrain a whimper at the sudden loss; a discomfort he could feel coming from Scott as well.

Well then, they’d just have to win this quickly.

Tonight’s training game was simple: catch Stiles, before he reached the construction site at the center of the territory.  He had a feeling it would be easier said than done.  This was meant to be the first full demonstration of the new rings.  From the brief glimpse he’d gotten in London it was going to be quite a show.

Unlike a true wizard Stiles only had a spark of power at his disposal, but apparently his new toys were of sufficient quality and complexity that it didn’t matter one bit.  Hell, there were some Council-level talents that couldn’t flatten a werewolf with the kind of ease he’d displayed taking down Jackson, and he had been training for all of _three weeks_.  In a century he would be _terrifying_.  Coming home from Chicago to find the Alpha Pack’s sigil carved into his and Scott’s front doors had definitely lit a fire in him.

Derek wasted no time, heading for the clearing at his fastest lope.  The strategy they’d agreed on was simple.  The Betas would form a loose ring about halfway to the finish line.  As soon as one of them encountered Stiles the rest would close in and hamper his progress, while Danny, Lydia, and the Sheriff tried to keep him distracted with suppressive fire.  He and Scott were taking up positions on opposite edges of the site and would move in for the kill once Stiles was pinned down.  It was a good plan; strategic, excellent use of teamwork, and flexible enough to allow for changes mid-game. 

Naturally it went wrong almost immediately.  Stiles was surprisingly empathetic person to begin with; now with the Packnet giving him a direct line to everyone’s emotions it was downright _unfair_. 

Jackson had made a lot of progress since the Kanima debacle but he still retained more than a little of his original asshole-jock personality.  Derek huffed out a wolfy sigh at the triumph that surged through the ‘net as Jackson charged something, undeterred by the warning emotions of the rest of the pack.  Victory vanished into rage and panic as he ran headlong into whatever trap Stiles had set.  He had to send caution at Scott to keep him from charging in himself at the Beta’s distress.  The new Alpha had a protective streak a mile wide.

An amused Peter along with a nervous Isaac went to Jackson’s aid instead.  His uncle’s glib mood was quickly replaced by pain and frustration just as his sense of Isaac faded to a muteness he guessed meant the boy had been knocked out.  Jackson followed him into unconsciousness a moment later, even as Peter was covered in the crawling tension of a Mountain Ash barrier.

Derek and Scott nodded to each other despite being a quarter mile apart, the link carrying the intent of the gesture just fine.  They ran to intercept Stiles’s most likely course as the twanging of bowstrings and gunfire erupted in the trees.  Convincing the Sheriff to use live rounds, even rubber ones, had been difficult.  It was only after Stiles had deflected a beanbag round from a shotgun that he’d consented.

The man’s laser focus as he fired soon broke into shocked pride and chagrin.  From the stinging sensations plaguing Danny and Lydia, the volley of rubber rounds had somehow been turned into friendly fire.  At the apology thrumming from the Sheriff, Derek broke off and doubled back into the clearing.  They only had one shot at this now.  Stiles didn’t have anywhere near the strength and speed he and Scott had in this form, but probably didn’t need it.  The devious teen had been watching _Heroes_ on Netflix and it was too much to hope he hadn’t figured out how to focus telekinesis into a Sylar slash.  Their superior physical powers wouldn’t be much help if Stiles could clip a couple tendons with a second’s thought.

Derek had just taken up position in the shadows of a stack of lumber when Scott collided with a distortion in the air.  A blinding flash washed out the clearing in shades of white, sending lances of pain through Derek’s eyes.  When his vision cleared the struggle was over. Scott was a crumpled black blur at the treeline and the writhing sensory anomaly that was Stiles was nearly on top of him.  It looked like young practitioner had somehow reversed the effect of the supersensory charm and projected it, muting and scrambling his presence all the way down to his scent.

He was close enough.  Derek sprang arms outstretched, clawed paw-hands curled to prevent accidental evisceration.  But when he collided with the distortion he didn’t fall into a roll, Stiles curled protectively in his arms.  Instead he slammed into Scott with a meaty thunk and crack of snapping bone.  Instinct took over for a moment as they went down in a heap, clawing and snapping at each other, but they snapped out of it as soon as they felt the frisson of the barrier trapping them.

“Waaaah Haaa!” Stiles whooped.  “I’m the king of the preserve!  Hail to the kings bitches!”

He was too busy celebrating to notice the sound of the twig snapping at the edge of the clearing but Derek and Scott heard it just fine.

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Derek growled in the horrifying mockery of speech his beast shape could produce.

Stiles tilted his head confused “What’s that?”

“You’re not safe until you reach the whistle in the center and blow it.”

The roar of a shotgun broke Stiles’s shocked silence.  A split second after the beanbag struck the line of Mountain Ash and broke the circle Derek and Scott were on him, wringing out shrieks of protest with slavering doggy kisses.

“The king is dead; long live the king,” the Sheriff intoned, walking up with the shotgun resting casually in the crook of his arm.

“Wanna help me out of here Dad?”

“That’s King Dad to you,” he said loftily.  “Come on boys, off.”  He shooed the Alphas away from the prostrate form of his son.  Stiles sat up and wiped a lock of sweaty hair off his forehead.  Using his own metabolic energy to catalyze the enchantments on his gear was effective but translated into one hell of a full body workout.  Stiles had been too engrossed in his magical studies to buy looser clothes to compensate for his rapidly growing muscle mass.  Not that Derek was complaining.  Especially not since his boyfriend was currently wearing extra tight jeans and a beater, both black, and his spelled red leather jacket.  Stiles had forced him to buy that in retaliation for his refusal to fess up about how much the rings had cost (custom rush jobs from svartalf jewelers were not cheap).  Derek was not sorry.

“Danny and Lydia getting the others?” Stiles asked as he reappeared on the ‘net.  He felt exhausted but exhilarated.  Derek shifted into full wolf and trotted over to lie down next Stiles, as much to conceal what the hot scent of Stiles was doing to him as to offer comfort.  At first he had wondered why Stiles had given in so easily when the Sheriff had insisted on getting a supersensory charm, but now he could see Lydia’s devious fingerprints all over this.  Every day the Sheriff’s grimace at being able to literally taste his son’s UST on the air got more and more pained.  Derek felt certain the man’s desperation would peak long before his own self-control, failed.  Assuming the “surprise” Stiles had planned for later didn’t unravel him completely.  He honestly wasn’t sure which he wanted at this point.

 

A few minutes later the rest of the pack trudged/limped out of the trees.  A smug Peter and sheepish Isaac trailed behind Jackson, Danny, and Lydia.  The two humans had soothing hands placed on the irate werewolf’s shoulders.  “We done here?” he asked.

Stiles looked over at Derek and Scott; all three nodded in unison.

“Good.”  He stalked off towards Danny’s car, the goalie’s apologetic shrug rattling the arrows in his quiver (he’d turned out to have a quite a talent for archery).  Lydia gave Stiles a wink before her expression returned to haughty queen with a “Hmph!” as she glided after the two boys.

“That was awesome, Stiles,” Isaac said slouching up to Stiles and giving him a hand up.

“He got you with that shadow switcheroo thing too didn’t he?” asked the Sheriff.

The mop of curly hair bounced in an enthusiastic nod.  “Yep.  He put the whammy on Jackson.  The guy clawed up Peter and slammed me into a tree when we tried to calm him down.”  He rubbed the back of his head dislodging some bloody dirt clods.

“Then he trapped me and knocked out Jackson with a blast of force to the base of the skull.   
Impressive.”  Peter put in.  Derek wished he’d been surprised that even Stiles’ mystic doodads couldn’t clear up the murky darkness that lingered within and around his uncle, but he really wasn’t.

“Indeed.”  The Sheriff stares were practically captioned “Call for Backup” every time he looked at Peter.  Derek shot Stiles a warning look as the Sheriff’s fingers twitched towards the magazine of wolfsbane rounds clipped to his belt.

“Ooookay!” Stiles said with forced cheer.  “So Peter is going to take Isaac home, Scott’s going to pick up Melissa after her shift, and Derek’s got some alone time at the loft.  I’m going home with my Dad and turning in early.”  He yawned and stretched expansively and unconvincingly to a silent chorus of “Bullshit!” from the remaining pack members.

The Sheriff mulled that over for a moment.  Unable to see whatever loophole Stiles was trying to squirm through he just clapped him on the shoulder and said “Good idea.”  The hand moved up to grasp the back of the red leather as he started to haul Stiles over to the cruiser like he might bolt at any moment.  He turned back to nod goodbye at them.  “Boys.  Peter.  Hale.”

As he watched them get in the car and drive away Derek wondered how the man could make his last name sound like a threat.

 

Soon Derek was alone getting dressed by the Camaro, which allowed him to read the letter Stiles had snuck into his pocket in peace.  He laughed softly after he finished.  Stiles was a devious, wonderful man.  If this worked they could spend some quality time together without technically breaking any rules (or laws).  Technically.  Of course it might fail spectacularly and leave them both drooling wrecks.  Either way the most interesting portion of the evening was still yet to come.


	2. Is This Thing On?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek's super secret sexy rendezvous.
> 
> Really? They thought this would go according to plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit stuff. Not quite what you are expecting I imagine.

Derek took his time preparing.  While the ritual was not exactly complex there were about a million ways this could go wrong.  He had great faith in Stiles’ abilities but if the enchantment was wonky he didn’t have the fix it and would have to wait until tiles worked it out.  So he did everything he knew to make this safer for the both of them.

The wizard Dresden had sent a friend of his to help them out.  Elaine Mallory had been cool, polite, and professional for all that she radiated magic and danger, from her baggy jeans and plain t-shirt to the tip of her wheat-brown ponytail.  Now all the pack residences had a set of basic wards that were keyed to the signature of the earrings that carried the Packnet enchantment.  Within them he was more or less safe from outside magic forces. 

As it drew closer to the prescribed time, midnight, he swept and cleaned his bedroom, removing any items that might carry a residual energy signature other than his own.  When he was done he took a long shower, thoroughly cleaning of the mud and blood from the game.  He visualized the water cascading over him in a shower of cool cerulean light, washing away everything but thoughts of Stiles and their feelings for each other.

Once he felt soothed and clean he got out and toweled off but didn’t dress.  Instead of clothes he put the talisman that had been folded into the letter around his neck.  With one good tug he moved the bed a couple feet out from the wall so he could walk all the way around it.  Slowly he circumambulated thrice, spilling a fine stream of salt in a circle while chanting a phrase in Gaelic, Stiles preferred language for magic.  After the third revolution he drew a few drops of blood from his finger tips with a flick of his claws and used them to power up the circle.  They had been surprised to discover that the Packnet continued to function through circles, Stiles power being so intimately blended with the wolves’ that they were a single entity as far as some applications of magic were concerned.  That also meant that the pack might feel some of what was about to happen.  Hopefully they’d just pass it off as coincidental and hardly unexpected steamy dreams.

His phone trilled out midnight from the floor below.  Derek took a deep breath and placed a hand on the talisman, holding it over his heart.  “Stiles Failbe Stilinski.”  He whispered the trigger phrase and touched the waiting magic with his mind, sending his spirit winging through the Nevernever to the demesne created by Stiles’s spell in a whirl of stars and color.

When his feet touched down it was on a cushion of soft leaves.  He stood fully dressed in a forest unlike any that existed in the real world.  The trees around him were an impossible blend of species from all over the planet, probably randomly assembled from Stiles’s subconscious, and all of them bore leaves, needles, or blossoms of warm Alpha scarlet.  A red sun was rising bathing the dreamwood in fiery light that made a sharp contrast to the bite in the air.

“Winter is coming,” he murmured, words coming out in a puff of steam.

“Of course you’d be a Stark,” Stiles said behind him, dressed as he had been when Derek saw him last.

Derek didn’t flinch as he turned around but in his effort not to his mouth went ahead without him “More of a Martell really.”

His boyfriend’s delighted laugh seemed to emanate from the landscape around them as much as echo through it.  It might be the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard, although part of him wanted to claw the word “dork” into his own forehead for thinking something so ridiculously sappy.

“Unbowed, unbent, unbroken.”  Stiles took a step forward with each word putting them only a few inches apart.  “That’s my guy.”

“So, you brought me here, what do plan to do with me?”  He moved closer, until they were bare millimeters apart but not yet touching.

Stiles swallowed, pupils expanding until only a needle-thin ring of pulsing red remained.  For his eyes to appear that way here meant that he taken the Alpha power all the way to the core of him.  Derek had believed him when he’d said he was happy about how things had turned out, but seeing the proof of it manifest here in his spirit’s manse swept away any lingering doubts.  “Actually, I was thinking that since last time things kind of got away from us…  I mean we did some…uh… _stuff_ neither one of us really expected and we haven’t exactly _talked_ about it…”

“Breathe Stiles, your turning as red as your foliage.”

“Ha.  Okay.”  He took a deep breath before continuing.  “I thought maybe this time you could decide what we…do…and I’ll follow your lead.”  The scarlet staining his face had faded to a delicate pink flush on his cheeks.  Derek kind of wanted to lick it. 

He pretty sure his frantic pulse could be taken by just _looking_ at the front of his jeans (and when had he decided that jeans this _tight_ were a good idea).  After spending a couple of hours with Stiles’s laptop he felt they were on a more even playing field, idea wise.  How he could still feel like a blushing virgin after everything was beyond him.  Maybe the third “virginity” was the charm.

Between some of the stuff in Stiles’s browser history and some of the things that had slipped out his mouth during their soon aborted make-out sessions, Derek had gotten the impression that Stiles was a fan of…talking.  Shocker.  So, as a dutiful partner Derek had put some thought into selecting a few choice phrases.  He leaned in a close as possible to whisper in Stiles’s ear in the most husky, sensual tone he could manage “I was thinking we could kiss while I undress you slowly.”

Stiles licked his lips “Uh huh.”

“Once you’re standing in front of me bare, naked, exposed, I’ll take my time licking my way down your chest, over your abs.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll sink to my knees and worship your cock with my mouth while I tease you with my fingers.”

“A-and then?”  Stiles had started to shake and Derek could hardly breathe for the cloud of arousal hanging about them.

“ _Then_ , when your prepped and ready for me I’ll take from behind, and fuck you so long and deep you come without having to touch yourself once.”  He let his breath ghost over Stiles neck, exposed and inviting, drinking in the shudder of anticipation and heaving breaths that were approaching sobs.  “ _Then_ , when my knot swells and ties us together we’ll rock, and grind, pressing it against just the right spot inside you.  Slowly at first, then faster, and faster, until we both come together a second time, screaming with it, filling you up so full I’ll be dripping out of you for _days_.”  He might not be winning any awards for Harlequin Romance novelists but Derek thought he’d gotten his point across.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Stiles breathed.  “But I’m afraid we’re gonna have to skip that first part.”  He snarled and all but tackled Derek, hands pawing desperately at random articles of clothing without finesse until he got tangled up and pitched over sideways with a frustrated squawk, sending up shower of crimson leaves.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly and pulled him back to his feet.  “Here, this is the dream world.”  He gestured at his own clothing which dissolved in a puff of smoke.  Seeing the look of burning, possessive pride in Stiles’ eyes as he took in the sight of him standing there naked incinerated any lingering awkwardness Derek had.

“Right.  Dream clothes.”  His clothes burst into scarlet flames and fell away.

They crashed back into the kiss, passionate words forgotten in their desperate struggle to get as close to each other as they could.  Soon Derek spun Stiles around to face a tree, the younger man bending forward to brace himself with his arms stretched out to the silver bark.  He sank down behind him as he shifted, claws trailing lovingly over the pale mole sprinkled skin that was his and only his to touch.  He gently pressed apart the supple cheeks of Stiles’s ass, saliva threatening spill over his tongue as he extended it over his fangs, leaning in.

Just before he would have buried himself in Stiles movement registered in his peripheral vision and a chill swept over him.

The warm morning light was swallowed up as swirling black clouds rolled in on an icy wind that left wisps of frost behind as it churned through the scarlet trees. 

They were no longer alone, a familiar gaunt figure had joined them.

“Harry!?” Stiles squeaked, clothes reappearing with a pop.

The wizard looked like death.  His eyes burned with a icy and calculating madness from black pits above stark hollowed out cheeks.  He wore clothes in his usual fashion but leather duster and all they had been bleached out to the pallid hue of cold corpse.  When he spoke his voice sounded like steel scraping over ice, while overhead streaks of red lightning kindled in the swirling darkness.

_Heartsblood is red,_

_My Lady’s ire is blue,_

_The Wolves of Winter are coming for you._

The apparition raised a hand as it recited and dug it into its own chest, crunching through ribs and sending out spurts of sluggish dark blood.

“Oh my God, Harry stop!” Stiles cried in horror.

“No, Stiles!  Whatever that thing is it’s not Harry!” he cried, desperately trying to hold back the madly struggling teen.

Not-Dresden removed its heart with a sickening pop and held the still beating organ out to Stiles like an offering.

_Love’s eyes are blind,_

_As his eyes are red,_

_The biers of Pack will build your marriage bed_.

“Stiles!  We need to go!  STILES!!!”

He lost his grip on the sobbing Stiles as the earth bucked beneath him.  The wind rose to hurricane force as a tidal wave of shattered trees and riven earth swept towards them, suffused with bloody radiance.  The sound of thousands upon thousands of agonized screams crashed over Derek as the fabric of the dream world around him was rent asunder.

He was yanked away from Stiles and thrown back through the Nevernever, the rushing stars and swirling vistas all stained scarlet and ringing with that horrible death wail.  He returned to the loft with an impact that he felt in his soul, even as his physical body crushed the bed beneath and red power blasted from the ruined circle to shatter every window, mirror, and piece of glass in the place.

He sprang to his feet and started throwing on clothes.  He was reaching for his shoes when he realized he could only feel the faintest trace of Stiles, so barely there he wasn’t sure it was real.  Derek’s instantaneous shift into beast form tore his clothes into so many scraps of cloth as the foundation of all that was began to crack.  All over Beacon Hills the pack, werewolf and human alike, were torn from their sleep and pulled to their feet to add their howls to the Alpha’s roar of rage and despair.

Before he knew it Derek was running.  He could smell the chaos in the air as the fabric of reality itself quaked and churned under the burden of the power that tore its way across the globe.  He howled again, ignoring the senses gained through the Packnet, needing the primal comfort of his pack’s voices.  They were close, converging as a single unit on the Stilinski home in a moment of black irony.  Finally they were acting like a seamless pack.  Not that it mattered now.  The pack would shatter if they lost Stiles.

He poured on more speed, moving faster than the familiar blue jeep he could see ahead could run.  In lieu of trying to find the spare key he simply went _through_ the door, taking a piece of the wall on either side with it.

As he leapt up the staircase in one bound he dreaded what he’d find in the room at the end of the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm a tease.


	3. We're Having Some Technical Difficulties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fallout. Tears. Recriminations. Inspirations.
> 
> Derek needs to carry extra clothes when the Sheriff is going to be around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is.

The sun had risen red some time ago.  The light from the broken window fell across Stiles’s deathly pale face as he lay comatose in his bed.  Every second Derek saw him like this was like razor blades shredding his guts but he couldn’t look away, his world consumed with capturing every tiny rise and fall of breath that proved his lover still clung to life.

“Shouldn’t we be taking him to a hospital?” the Sheriff asked in a desperate whisper.

“We can do more for him here.  Besides, if you want to move Stiles you’ll have to move Derek first,” Deaton answered.

“I left my forklift at the station.”

Derek was dimly aware that the twin bed was a little lower to the ground than usual, having buckled under his weight.  Stiles probably wasn’t as small and shrunken as he looked in Derek’s red-tinged vision, except by comparison, as the paw-hand resting lightly on Stiles’s chest almost covered it entirely.  He was pretty sure he hadn’t turned into Werewolf King Kong when he’d shifted the night before, but he had more important things to do than stare at himself in a mirror, not that any had survived.

He heard the Sheriff shifting his weight back and forth.  “Is Scott doing any better?”

“Some.  Isaac, Danny, and Jackson are with him; Lydia is still under heavy sedation.  Peter is still recovering from the wounds Scott gave him when he tried to force his way up here.”

“Shame.”

“Agreed.”

Derek growled sub-sonically, vibrating the floorboards.  There was a time for wit and this was not it.

“I don’t understand what happened to Lydia.  None of us were in great shape after Derek called us out, which was the freakiest thing yet by the way, but the way she was screaming…I’d never guessed that sound could come from a human throat.”

“That’s because she isn’t human.”  One of his ears swiveled towards Deaton at that.  For fuck’s sake, he was the _Alpha_ , people were supposed to _tell_ him these things.  “Banshees sense death, especially supernatural ones.  That spell last night was something from a bygone age, death and blood magic of the blackest kind.  No doubt every banshee on earth was shrieking when it went off.”

“But why is she still screaming every time she comes out of sedation?”

“Whatever spell Stiles was using to dreamwalk with Derek was shattered by the death spell.  The backlash fed back into the Packnet.  Essentially, Lydia was directly linked to the spirit world when the curse tore through it, opening her mind to _every_ death it caused.”

“Son of a bitch.  Reports are still coming in from all over the world but the word is tens of thousands died, hearts ripped out or rapidly aged like in The Last Crusade.”  The Sheriff’s voice turned grim. “Will she recover?” 

“I hope so.  She’s made of sterner stuff than even she realizes.  But it’s a moot point until Stiles returns from wherever he is.  As long as he wanders the Nevernever the echoes of the curse will keep reaching back through him.”

“So all we can do is wait?”

“Yes and no.”  Derek rolled an eye to look at the vet.  “That curse destabilized every enchantment in the western hemisphere.  For some reason there is feedback loop around Stiles.  If the power keeps building like this something unfortunate is likely to occur.”

“Could you vague that up a bit; I’m in serious danger of clarity over here.”  Derek snorted in agreement.

“Stiles’s talent is for gathering up the flows of magic that naturally occur and binding them into enchantments.  Beacon Hills is a place of Power, to which Stiles was somehow connected.”

“He told me something about leylines running through the town.”

“Exactly, at least in part.  The lines are the largest of such power flows in the world but there are many more subtle kinds.  It’s like Stiles was thrown sideways by the effect of the curse and tried to grab on to whatever he could.  He wound up tangled in an unstable web of energy.”

“That’s why he’s not coming back?  He’s…caught?”

“Like a fly in a spider’s web.  Or more accurately a spider in a spider’s web.  He has to unravel himself in order to return, hopefully before the building energy begins to manifest on its own.”

“Kaboom?”

“Aye.”

 

They fell quiet and continued their vigil in silence for most of an hour.  The sound of a text alert on the Sheriff’s phone sounded like a bomb going off in the tense silence of the room.

The man sighed despondently.  “Still no word from anyone in Chicago.  Tommy sent me a vague text last night that read like a “just in case I don’t return”.  I still haven’t heard back from him.  Not from Sgt. Murphy or Dresden either.”

At the sound of that name Derek’s head jerked up.  There was something important there.  Something about a poem.  It came back in a rush: the dreamscape, the apparition, the warning.  He fixed the Sheriff in his gaze, trying to _force_ the images down the connection between them since coherent speech was currently beyond him.

Surprisingly it worked.  The Sheriff staggered at the rush of memory.  Normally an Alpha needed to pierce the spine with its claws for memory transference.  Derek was currently twice the size of a normal Alpha and already shared a psychic bond with the Sheriff, so perhaps it wasn’t so odd.  Or perhaps normal was so far behind them at this point shock and awe had simply lost their novelty.

“Sheriff?” came the chorus of concerned calls from Deaton and the people downstairs.

“I’m fine.  I can see it; what they saw in the dreamwalk.  An apparition appeared right before the spell broke.  It spoke.  I think Derek’s trying to say it was a prophecy?”

Deaton’s turned a piercing stare on Derek “What!?”

The Sheriff recited it, repeating it twice while Deaton mulled it over.  “What does it mean?”

“I can guess at parts but prophecy is not something to take lightly, if that’s what this is.”

A wave of dizziness made Derek’s head spin.  The Sheriff had to reach out to brace himself against the desk and from the sound of breaking glass downstairs, the whole pack was being affected.

“I’d ask what’s going on but if you said “I’m not sure” again I’d have to shoot you.”

Deaton merely nodded, putting as much of his usual mysterious into the gesture as he could.

The bed began to creak.  For a second Derek had the hysterical worry that he was going to keep growing until the floor collapsed, until he realized he was _shrinking_ and shifting back.  The power that Derek had been holding was returning to Stiles.  From the slightly green expression that had come over Deaton’s face the turbulence wasn’t just affecting the pack.  The emissary produced some Mountain Ash from a pocket and threw it, exhaling in relief when the protecting circle formed, shielding him from whatever the hell was happening.

The rush of power peaked and suddenly stilled before something like a sonic boom shook the house down to its foundations.  Silence reigned save for the ringing in Derek’s now human ears.  He reached toward Stiles’s face.  “Sti-

The boy bolted upright, eyes flying open in a blaze of scarlet light, the red all through pupil, iris, _and_ sclera.  He spoke in the same hideous voice of the apparition in their shared dream, each syllable raking through his mind like frozen claws.  There was more this time.

_Heartsblood is red,_

_My Lady’s ire is blue,_

_The Wolves of Winter are coming for you._

 

_Love’s eyes are blind,_

_As his eyes are red,_

_The biers of Pack will build your marriage bed_.

 

_By blade of glass,_

_One battle is won,_

_And the Red Wolf rides with the rising sun,_

_With silver in hand,_

_And war to imbrue,_

_But the Wolves of Winter are coming for you._

Stiles blinked spastically as the Voice of Doom trailed off with a rattle.  When his eyes regained focus they were their normal whisky color and brimming with tears.  “He’s dead, Derek.  Harry’s dead.”

Derek caught him as fell over sobbing, holding Stiles tight pressing his nose into his hair.

“Definitely prophecy.”

Derek and the Sheriff gave Deaton glares that promised a slow, agonizing death.  The vet left, soon followed by the Sheriff, leaving Derek alone with Stiles.

It took a long time for the young man to finally wind down.  When he’d been quiet for some time Derek risked speaking.  “Do you think I could borrow some pants?”

Stiles’s hiccoughing laughter was slightly hysterical, but it was a sound Derek had thought he might never hear again.  It was perfect.  It was over too soon.  “The Red Court.  All of them.”

“Harry?”

Stiles nodded into his shoulder.  “He made it out.  Someone else killed him later, I think.  That cold blackness took him and he was gone.”

“Deaton said it was a blood curse.  All the full vampires died, I guess the halfies turned human again but their natural age caught up to them and most of them died too.”

Stiles’s head snapped up like a hound catching a scent.  “Let me up!”  He scrambled out of Derek’s arms and flung himself at the closet, tearing door and frame out of the wall in his haste.  It was turning out to be a rough day for the Stilinski home.  He pulled his emergency trunk out and pulled it apart magically, shredding the physical and mystical protections guarding the laptop inside.

“What are you looking for?”  Stiles leg was bouncing up and down so quickly while he waited for the computer to boot up it was nearly a blur.

“The Half-Turned, Derek.  _The Half-Turned!_ ”  Derek was considering whether or not to point out that repeating something emphatically didn’t count as an explanation when Stiles yelled triumphantly, spinning around in a flash and planting a kiss on his lips.  “I know how to find them!”

“The Halfies?” he asked bewildered.

“No!  Erica and Boyd!  They’re still alive and I can find them!  We’re going to get them back!”

This time it was Derek that initiated the kiss.  “How?”

“It’s time to have that talk with Danny,” he said solemnly.

Derek floundered in confusion for a moment before it clicked.  “You sure that’ll work?”  The wild hope surging back and forth between them was making him giddy.

“Yes!  But we have a lot of work to do and we have to ready before the New Moon at the latest.  With any luck we’ll have them back before Labor Day and just in time for school.”

“When have we ever been lucky?”  He managed not vocalize the thought that he’d used up all his luck in meeting Stiles.

“Fine, then.  Fuck luck, we’ll use claws.”

“Yes, claws.  But first, pants.”  He beamed at Stiles, returning his fierce smile and glowing with pride at the power and surety radiating off him.

“And curly fries?”

They were kissing passionately once more when a pair of jeans struck Derek in the back of the head, thrown with surprising force and aim.  He couldn’t remember for certain if the Sheriff had played baseball in college or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Your feedback is what makes this worth it.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure where this is headed. Doubtless down the rabbit hole.
> 
> Race you to the bottom!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fudging the timelines a bit. Sorry.
> 
> Things are gearing up for alternate season 3a. It will be more of a conflagration than in canon due to the aftermath of the Red Court's demise so soon after Stiles an company lit up a flashing neon sign pointing to beacon hills.


End file.
